


Midorima Shintarou, Private Eye

by masi



Series: Short Stories for BPS [2]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: AU, Film Noir, Gen, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a new cat burglar in town. Midorima attempts to catch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midorima Shintarou, Private Eye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxinsocksinabox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxinsocksinabox/gifts).



> This story was prompted by lynsaysgtfo during the BPS Fic Request Round: "Film noir wherein Takao is a cat burglar and Midorima has to catch him."

It was pouring again. The window ledges of the house he was investigating glistened with rainwater, reflected the dull yellow street lights. The cat burglar was going to have a hard time climbing in through the upper windows of the house, and the lower ones had been boarded up. Midorima Shintarou, Private Eye, was ready to call it a night.

He had been camped out in this rented black Toyota, in the midst of a line of neighborhood black cars, for two days now. His dyed hair was sweaty under the fedora pulled low over his forehead, slippery with oil. He had spent hours staring through his binoculars, hours checking video feeds, chain smoking, drinking stale coffee, eating donuts, peeing in water bottles. Watched the days bleed into nights. 

The case file said that the homeowner was in town, but Shintarou had yet to see him entering or leaving the house. Maybe the burglar was satisfied with his loot and wouldn’t be making an appearance either. It was better to start the investigation afresh, with another of the four houses that had been targeted in the past month. Shintarou was about to turn on the ignition, when he heard a knock on his window. 

He jerked around, one hand reaching for the canister of pepper spray in his pocket. On the other side of the glass was a young man. He had a radiant smile (Shintarou couldn’t remember the last time he had seen someone smile so brightly) and narrow, blue-gray eyes. “Hi!” the man said. 

It was highly unlikely that the cat burglar would be taking a stroll down the street at this hour of the night. Probably a nosy neighbor. When Shintarou lowered the window, the man lifted his umbrella higher, stuck his head right in, said, “I’m the owner of that house you’re surveilling. Actually, I’m the one who went to your office with this case. A cop named Aomine recommended me, because the department was too busy, he said?”

“He’s a lazy ass,” Shintarou snapped. “And you. You should be more careful. Of course a burglar is going to make off with your prized possessions if you’re never home. I’m leaving.” 

“Wait,” the man began, “I was going to ask, do you want to-”

Shintarou drove off.  
***  
The rain was coming down in sheets as he walked from the car rental place to the office, distorting his vision, drenching him to the bone, pooling in his shoes. The cold enveloped him, pressed firm fingers at the base of his spine. When he reached the small office building, Shintarou tossed his soggy cigarette onto the dying flower bush, started to pound on the heavy wooden door. 

After five minutes, Murasakibara wrenched the door open so hard that the plaque bearing the inscription “Akashi P.I.” tumbled off and bounced a few times on the threadbare carpet. In another time, in years long past, Shintarou would have reprimanded him for such behavior. Tonight, he kicked off his muddy shoes, hung his fedora up on the coat rack. There were two others there already.

Murasakibara stomped back to his chair near the inner office, crossed his arms. The door to that office was open, and a yellow light flickered within, cast thin shadows that slid across the ledges, skated across the floor. 

“Where’s Kise and Momoi?” Shintarou asked.

“Went off ambulance chasing,” Murasakibara mumbled, opening a bag of potato chips. “Left me with these cheap things.” 

Shintarou considered going back to his apartment. But he still didn’t have enough to pay this month’s rent, and his landlady was threatening to have him evicted. He lit another cigarette and then walked into the inner office. 

The light flickering on the floor was from a lantern, seated on the file cabinet. Further into the room were two figures on opposite sides of the large desk, seated under the bare lightbulb that needed to be replaced. They looked almost identical, the same wiry build and messy hair, the same posture, the same stillness. Akashi and Kuroko, smoking and playing blackjack.

There was a plate of fried eggs, already cold and crusty, next to Akashi’s elbow. A pot of coffee, in its last quarter. Akashi said, not looking up, “Help yourself, Shintarou.” 

Shintarou was not hard-boiled enough to be in love with fried eggs, and the coffee was the instant kind, made using hot water from the restroom. He took a seat by the window, cracked it open to let out some of the stench. Raindrops stung his hand. He said, “I need another case. One that doesn’t involve catching burglars who prey on stupid people.”

“Hit me,” Akashi said. 

Kuroko sucked on his cigarette, slanted his owl-like eyes in Shintarou’s direction before dealing out another card. Akashi blew out a cloud of smoke, inhaled half of it up his nose. They were awful people, Shintarou thought, tapping out a line of ash on the windowsill. He should have never agreed to be a part of Akashi’s private investigation business. 

So what if he had lost his doctor’s licensure because of malpractice claims, on what was supposed to be a lucky day, his lucky frog in his pocket? Akashi was not much better than those croakers at the hospital who had made a scapegoat of Shintarou. Beautiful to watch, yes, those long fingers and bright red hair, those half-lidded eyes when he was casually observing a game, but he was a hollow shell of his former self, had given up on believing in himself, in other people. He spent his days meeting with lazy coppers and sketchy clients; clients who had to be patted down by Murasakibara and spent hours cussing and complaining about petty grievances. The cases would be handed to Shintarou, who wasted weeks, months, gumshoeing around town. Trying to collect enough evidence on small-time crooks to give to lawyers Kise and Momoi, who won only about a third of the cases they represented. 

The only private investigations that brought in any money were the ones involving domestic disputes, and all of those were now handled by Kuroko, who was talented at being invisible and had a vehement dislike for cheating partners. But he was also recovering from a leg injury, after getting hit by a car while tailing a cheating partner (the driver claimed to not have seen him crossing the street), so this was Shintarou’s chance. 

Shintarou said, “Akashi, I said, I want a-”

“Aomine-kun can take the Takao Kazunari case back,” Kuroko remarked, pouring the remainder of the coffee into his mug. “Since you are having so much difficulty, Midorima-kun.”

“When did I say I was having trouble? Besides, he’s not any better. And he’ll get all the credit after I have solved the case.”

Akashi said, “He pays us. Please don’t complain, Shintarou. Beggars can’t be choosers.” He looked up, his mismatched eyes wide, gleaming like that of a starved alley cat. “You should think of the business. Isn’t it terribly sad, that we have to play in the dark in order to keep our electricity bill low?”  
***  
It was pouring again, and he had found a three-day’s notice of eviction stuck to his door that morning. When Takao invited him in for a cup of tea, Shintarou acquiesced, provided that he be served coffee and not tea. 

Takao offered to make him a cappuccino. “No, straight black,” Shintarou said. “And get me an ashtray.” He sat down at a mahogany eight-seat dining table. There was a humongous chandelier above his head. The last time he had been inside such a house was when he was still a respected doctor. 

“Sorry, Shin-chan, no smoking in-”

“What did you just call me?”

Takao brought him espresso in a sparkling glass cup, said, “No smoking in the house, please. The stench gets into the upholstery.”

That was a good point. Shintarou decided to forgo the cigarette. He said, “I want you to go the office tomorrow, pay Akashi, and tell him that you’re satisfied with my services. Then get yourself a bulldog or something.”

“Aw, what’s the fun in that?” Takao straddled his chair. “Don’t you want to catch the burglar? Grab him as he is trying to jump out of a window?”

Shintarou hesitated for a moment before saying, “Maybe the burglar is Akashi, toying with me. He doesn’t move around much, but he’s fast when he does. He could have planned this out with Aomine and Kuroko.”

Takao’s eyes were wide, and there was something in his gaze, fleeting, undecipherable, before he stood up, said, “Sorry, Shin-chan, will you excuse me for a moment?”

Shintarou had just finished his espresso when he heard a loud crash. The noise seemed to have come from upstairs. He ran for the stairs, pulling out his handcuffs and police baton in the process. He took the stairs two at a time. He hoped Takao was okay.

The door at the end of the hallway stood ajar. He ran into the room just in time to see a masked figure all in black make a dash for the window. Shintarou threw his baton in the direction of the burglar’s knees. It connected exactly at the kneecaps, of course, and the burglar fell, scattering gold and silver jewelry all over the carpet.

“That’s enough of that,” Shintarou said, striding over to the burglar. He cuffed one slender wrist to his own. “You’re coming with me.”

When he pulled the mask off, he was met with Takao’s sheepish smile.  
***  
“Aw, don’t be mad at me,” Takao said, as Shintarou pulled him towards the front door. “I just wanted to get to know you! I saw you in the office once, when I was accompanying Miyaji-san, and you looked so professional, handing in your case report! And then you solved Miyaji-san’s case! I started wondering, would you be able to catch a burglar of my caliber? I haven’t stolen anything valuable from other people’s houses though. I even turned myself over to you just now, right? Because, let’s face it, you wouldn’t have been able to catch me otherwise, not in a million years. Please don’t send me to the can.”

Shintarou had just managed to negotiate themselves out the front door when Takao grabbed the lapels of his trench coat, pulled him down, kissed his cheek. 

“Thanks for your services, Shin-chan,” he murmured. “I’ll be in touch.” And then, Shintarou registered a little clinking sound, the strain easing off of his wrist, and Takao had broken free. 

Takao gave a jaunty wave as he folded himself into the Toyota parked in the driveway. Shintarou, blush cooling on his cheeks, managed to read the license number before the car tore off down the street. He reached for his pack of cigarettes.


End file.
